


Here Tonight

by dedkake



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Hazing, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1439131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik comes home to find Shaw's boyfriend hiding in his bathtub.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my WIP folder the other day and decided to tie it up. Pretty sure it was supposed to be a whole long thing, but I want to clean out my WIP folder for DOFP. Maybe I'll come back to it in the future. Based on [this prompt on the kink meme](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=21243877#t21243877).

Erik comes home from work to a quiet house, which is surprising because it’s Saturday. It’s not unwelcome, though. Erik’s strung out on a double shift and he’s got enough school work to drown in on top of that—why he’d ever agreed to write an honors thesis, he’ll never understand. So he’s perfectly prepared to take a shower and settle in to write annotations until his eyes start to blur.

Except Charles is in his bathtub. No, Charles is asleep and naked and curled up in the bathtub that Erik shares with Sebastian as heads of the house. And Sebastian is no where in the vicinity.

All thoughts of his thesis gone, Erik kneels down by the tub and waits for Charles to wake. As much as Erik wishes this weren’t a situation he’s familiar with, this is the third time he’s found Charles hiding somewhere in the house this week alone. He knows by now that Charles doesn’t do well with being startled out of sleep, and he knows that Charles’ telepathy, depending on how much alcohol’s in his system, will wake him up in the presence of another wakeful mind. So Erik waits, trying to distract himself from counting the bruises on Charles’ exposed shoulder by counting the black tiles in the pattern on the floor.

_Erik!_ he hears in only the vaguest sense of the word. He’s gotten to 34 for the second time and hearing Charles’ voice is a warm relief.

“I’m sorry,” Charles murmurs, sinking lower into the tub and burying his hands in his hair.

Erik keeps his eyes averted, in case Charles is feeling too vulnerable—the shower curtain had been closed when Erik had arrived, but the room was still at least somewhat public. “I don’t think this room was designed for sleeping,” Erik says with a dry humor that usually makes Charles grin.

“No, of course not,” Charles says softly, not as amused as Erik had hoped. “Sebastian has my keys and I didn’t think I could stay on the couch like this.” He trails off and Erik turns back to him to find wide blue eyes staring up at him.

“Are you alright?” Erik asks, again catching sight of the bruises on Charles’ arms.

Charles grimaces and turns away. “‘M fine,” he mumbles, shifting himself so he’s propped up against the foot of the tub, hands dropped into his lap for a little modesty—as if Erik hasn’t seen him naked a million times before.

_No, you’re not_ , Erik thinks pointedly, but lets Charles have his way in the air between them. “What happened this time?” Erik asks, already wishing he’d been there, so he could have stopped it.

“They just took my clothes, that’s all,” Charles says. It’s a normal enough stunt for Sebastian to pull, even with the other first years, but the tightness in Charles’ voice tells Erik that the story doesn’t end there.

Charles laughs, a self-deprecating rush of air through his nose that sets Erik’s teeth on edge. “You’re right, of course,” Charles says. “We were in the park and Sebastian—” his voice catches and he pauses for a breath, “—well, it doesn’t really matter. They had my clothes and I wanted to go home and Sebastian said the only way I was getting home was on my own two feet.”

“Through campus?” Erik asks, suddenly cold all over at the thought of Charles naked and alone and probably a little drunk in the middle of campus on a Saturday night.

“It wasn’t too bad, not when I started turning everyone’s attention away,” Charles says softly, scraping his fingers through his hair again, keeping his eyes locked on his knees.

Erik almost stops breathing. Charles never uses his telepathy without express permission—he actively holds it back, binds his mental eyes to keep people feeling safe around him. He’d confessed that to Erik a long time ago, when Erik had tried to get him to make everyone _think_ that Janos had beaten him up instead of actually letting it happen.

It’s frustrating to Erik whenever he encounters a mutant who won’t use their abilities, who’s ashamed or scared, and he’d felt that way about Charles for a long time. He’d only been convinced otherwise when Sebastian had forced Charles to suck Erik off in front of everyone and Charles had done it, speaking softly into Erik’s mind the entire time, never once turning another mind away. For something to have driven Charles to break his moral code—it’s not something that sits well with Erik.

“You have to get out of here, Charles,” Erik says, even though the thought of Hellfire without Charles feels cold and empty now. They’ve talked about it before, Charles leaving, and it usually ends with Charles in a panic, but Erik has to keep trying.

Charles tenses in the tub, turning desperate eyes towards Erik. “I can’t,” Charles says, shaking his head. “This is the only place that’s ever accepted me for who I am. For all of who I am.”

“This isn’t acceptance,” Erik growls. Acceptance had been the cornerstone of his and Shaw’s plans when they set up Hellfire, and they’d done alright for a while, but superiority has become the main pillar these days, and acceptance has fallen to the wayside. Erik hadn’t noticed until Charles and the rest of his incoming class had recited the doctrine, Erik’s words, the line of them standing there with their powers on display—except Charles, who’d stood with his hands resting at his sides, holding himself back.

There’s a sting in Erik’s mind that’s something like a pinch, and even if it hurts, Erik enjoys the touch of Charles’ ability. “It’s fine,” Charles says, a sharp edge in his tone. “It’s a frat. It’s about earning acceptance and the fact that they’re even giving me a chance is more than I ever hoped for.”

Erik refuses to drop it like he knows Charles wants, leaning over the edge of the tub to get Charles to look at him instead. “That’s not how it should be—you’ve told me yourself. This should be a safe space for all mutants.” Erik has a word document on his computer full of Charles’ ideas for Hellfire, the ideas that they’ve come up with together. Some, he’s sure, are too much for Sebastian, but he’s tried to take some of the others to Sebastian. It’s never gone well.

“It is, though,” Charles says, his tone tired and defeated despite his protests. “Don’t you see?”

Fingers tightening on the edge of the tub, Erik snaps, “Obviously it’s not. I’ve been here since the start and they’ve never done anything like this to anyone else.”

“I’m the first telepath to join up,” Charles says, his fingers jumping up to his temples in a defensive gesture. “ _And_ I’m the president’s boyfriend.”

Erik pushes himself to his feet, unable to contain his energy anymore. “Then at least _he_ should treat you better than this. Why is it that I’m here and he’s out getting drunk in the park?” he demands, unable to help the way he’s menacing even if he can see Charles curling back up under him.

“Erik, please,” Charles says, voice very small. “I can’t.”

Taking a deep breath, Erik tries to let his anger go. “I don’t want you to get hurt anymore,” he says, leaning back against the wall and letting himself slowly sink to the floor once more. “If you’re worried about what Sebastian will do, I can help. I’ll do whatever I can, just—please.”

Charles looks vulnerable again, wrapping his fingers around his arms. “I won’t leave, Erik,” he says, and Erik is fairly certain the sadness he feels pulling at his gut is not his own. “This is the only place I’ve ever been loved. Everything else is worth it.”

At one point, Erik might have felt the same—when he and Sebastian had just been starting out, making a place for mutants at Gen U, maybe someday at all universities, Erik had been happier than he could remember being ever before. Erik didn’t just feel loved, he felt like he could love something again.

Somewhere along the road, they’ve lost that, though, and it frustrates Erik that Charles can’t see it. He knows, vaguely, about Charles’ lack of friends, his neglectful mother and stepfather, the on-going fight he’s in with his adopted sister, but Erik also knows, perhaps more clearly than anything else he’s known his entire life, that nothing about Sebastian could ever be associated with the word _love_.

“Sebastian doesn’t love you,” Erik says. He almost apologizes when he realizes how harsh it sounds, but he doesn’t, because he’s not sorry. Charles needs to know.

Charles sighs, shifting his legs where they’re stretched before him in the tub. The sound of his skin peeling away from the plasticky surface is too loud in the quiet of the house. “I know,” he says slowly, looking up at Erik. “I wasn’t talking about Sebastian.”

For a moment, Erik’s mind is completely blank, unable to piece together who Charles could be talking about besides Sebastian. But as he continues to hold Charles’ gaze, he realizes exactly what Charles means. “Oh,” he manages to say, suddenly feeling awkward and warm in a way that isn’t as contradictory as he thinks it should be.

Charles smiles at Erik, something like sympathy in his gaze, before standing slowly, stretching his arms over his head. Erik can’t look away, tipping his head back against the wall to watch. Maybe he’s always been watching—he can certainly remember more moments than he can count lost to Charles’ gaze or his lips or the freckles on his arms or any number of other pieces that make up _Charles_. And none of that is counting the times that hours have disappeared in a conversation between them, or the long moments lost after Charles’ departures.

“Do you have any clothes I could borrow?” Charles asks as if he has no idea that Erik is staring. Erik is beginning to doubt there’s anything about him Charles doesn’t know.

Swallowing in an attempt to wet his suddenly dry throat, Erik pushes himself up as well. “Of course,” he says, pushing open the door to his room with a burst of power and nearly knocking a hole in the wall in the process. “I’m sorry I didn’t offer you anything sooner.”

“Are you?” Charles asks, sounding amused. He follows close enough that Erik can feel his presence pressing against his skin. Erik shivers.

Despite Charles’ light tone, Erik bristles at the question. He might like looking at Charles, but that doesn’t mean he wants him to suffer in anyway. “Of course I am,” he snaps, throwing a clean white tank top, a pair of old boxers, and some dark sweatpants from his dresser at Charles and slamming the drawer shut in frustration. “Not everyone here wants to take advantage of you. I should’ve thought ahead when I found you in there.”

Charles turns away to pull on the clothes in some vain attempt at modesty, but Erik sees the way his cheeks turn red before his face disappears into Erik’s shirt. “I’m sorry, Erik,” Charles says, keeping himself angled away. “I know you’re different.” He runs a hand through his hair and Erik wants to do that, too. It’s amazing to Erik that everything is so clear now that Charles has just said it aloud.

“Earlier you thought—” Charles says, glancing around Erik’s room and doing a horrible job at distracting Erik from how well his clothes fit Charles, aside from the pants being too long, and from the thought of what Charles might look like in his clothes a few years from now, when he’s outgrown his awkward teenage body. “—something about all our ideas for Hellfire.”

It’s easy, sometimes, to forget that Charles is in his head all the time—that Erik has given Charles permission to be there—but it’s always a pleasant surprise to be reminded. “I’ve made a document of everything,” Erik says, grabbing his laptop off his desk and dropping it on the bed near Charles. The document is always open and Erik knows Charles will find it. “I don’t know why I haven’t shown you before.” No reason other than that Erik is a little embarrassed that he hasn’t been able to make any of the changes come to pass.

Charles beams down at the laptop, obviously having found the document. He reads it, entire body focused on the screen as he leans down on Erik’s bed in a sprawl that should be awkward but somehow isn’t awkward at all. Erik tries very hard not to think about anything at all apart from what Charles is reading and what his response might be, but he can’t stop thinking of Charles in the bathtub—Charles calling him out, even when he was at his most vulnerable.

“This is amazing,” Charles says, looking up from Erik’s laptop and drawing Erik away from his thoughts.

Normally, Erik’s not one for modesty, but in this instance, he’s not sure how he can take any of the credit. “It’s really all your doing,” he says, sitting down in his desk chair to keep from fidgeting.

Blushing and waving Erik off, Charles scans the whole document another time before focusing in on the details. He doesn’t seem to realize how he’s muttering under his breath, or how he chews on the inside of his lip when he’s particularly drawn in by the words on the page, or the way his telepathy is unfurling in the air around them washing over Erik in a warm wave of excitement.

Erik realizes, as he finds himself counting the wrinkles in Charles’ brow, exactly how much he feels for Charles—or at least enough of it to know he can’t keep it under wraps any longer.

“Charles,” Erik says and it comes out much more forcefully than he intends. Charles quiets, wincing just enough that Erik feels his stomach twist.

“Charles,” Erik starts again, hoping he’s not blushing. “Before—in the bathroom—you said how I feel.” He stops short, because Charles is suddenly looking very serious again and Erik doesn’t want to disappoint him almost more than he doesn’t want to be disappointed. “How do you feel?”

Slowly, Charles closes the laptop and sets it aside before looking up at Erik. “If you don’t—” he says, swallowing thickly. “I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”

Erik shifts his weight around, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. “I do,” he says, hoping it doesn’t sound as choked as he feels.

Charles’ eyes widen a fraction and a flush creeps across his cheeks. “Oh,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “Oh.”

The silence drags on too long and Erik can’t bear to hold Charles’ gaze any longer. His mind is jumping wildly from thought to thought and he feels completely exposed. He looks away, at the vintage Star Trek poster on the wall, at the peeling paint in the corner, at the pair of dirty socks peeking out from under his bed—anywhere but Charles.

Clearing his throat in the quiet, Charles finally says, softly, “Me too.”

Erik is on his feet before he realizes. “What?” he asks, rocking forward on his toes, but catching himself before he takes a step forward. “Really?”

Charles stares at his hands for a moment and Erik wishes he could see his eyes.

“I think so,” Charles says. “Yes. For a long time now.”

“But,” Erik starts, wanting it, but turning the past few months over in his mind, “what about Shaw?”

Charles slumps forward over his knees, his hands sliding up to grip at his hair. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice strained and distant, his knuckles turning white. “I thought everything was fine at first, but now…”

Not even thinking about it, Erik settles himself on the bed next to Charles. He doesn’t reach out, doesn’t lean in, but he waits. He knows what Shaw is like, and he knows what it’s like to figure that out.

Shaking his head, Charles leans in to Erik’s side. “I can’t think about it right now,” he says, his breath warm on Erik’s chest through his thin t-shirt.

“Okay,” Erik says, trying to ignore the way his heart is racing. He doesn’t want to stop talking, he doesn’t want Shaw hanging off the back of whatever this is any longer than he must, but he doesn’t want to upset Charles, either. The image of Charles curled up in the bathtub is still too fresh at the front of his mind. “Whatever you want.”

Charles wraps an arm around Erik’s waist and half pushes, half pulls him down onto the bed so they are lying next to each other. “What do _you_ want?” Charles asks, this time right into Erik’s ear.

Mindful of the bruises he remembers on Charles’ arms, Erik adjusts them slightly to pull his duvet over them. He thinks of getting Charles out of Hellfire, of starting their own frat together, of watching as Shaw’s legacy is forgotten in Charles’ wake, of being with Charles years from now and—but none of that is helpful. It’s not what is important right now.

“You,” he says finally, the heat of his blush nothing compared to the warmth Charles’ soft laughter brings to his stomach.

“Let’s start here,” Charles murmurs, shifting himself closer to Erik and closing his eyes. “Just for tonight.”

Taking a deep breath, Erik finds himself oddly calm. It’s easy now, with Charles, to put Shaw and his thesis and his homework out of his mind. Here with Charles in his bed above the empty house is the perfect place to begin again.


End file.
